Without Regret
by The Musical Jedi
Summary: A possible explanation for why ObiWan and Dooku don't remember having met. FINE


**Title:** Without Regret

**Author: **The Musical Jedi

**Timeframe: **About 20 years before TPM

**Characters:** Qui-Gon Jinn, Count Dooku, Obi-Wan Kenobi

**Notes: **This was written for the fourth PT Write/Rewrite contest: _"It's a pity our paths have never crossed before now, Obi-Wan. Qui-Gon always spoke very highly of you."_ Also, this is for **Cynical21**, as she's the one who, in my mind, created this version of Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon. Many thanks to her for letting me wander around in her sandbox and play with her toys – I will always appreciate your generosity. And, lest we forget, all hail the Mighty Flanneled One. I promise to return the boys to you in good working order when I'm done. I make no money on this.

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**Without Regret**

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Night was falling over Coruscant; the skyscrapers were dark, thrown in sharp relief by the garnet sky beyond. Dots of white light speckled the sky, unnaturally lined up in lanes of traffic, dividing the heavens into blocks separated by the flowing gridwork of sentients hurrying to and from jobs or to enjoy their evening of leisure. Within the Jedi Temple, the lightbanks mirrored the sun, gradually dimming. The effect threw long shadows from the massive supporting pillars across walkways and chambers until it seemed as though the entire building were a study in light and dark.

Qui-Gon Jinn stood silhouetted against one of the towering floor-to-ceiling windows, gazing out towards the cityscape. He could feel the yearning to be away from this place once again, the Temple that was haunted with painful memories and condemning mistakes. He longed for the clean air of a more pristine planet and the solace that came from being alone – completely alone – a state one could never accomplish on a planet as overcrowded as Coruscant.

_I should request another mission from the Council_, he thought, ignoring the accompanying hope that it would be both time-consuming and dangerous. Anything was preferable to the ever-present reminders of his former Padawan, his fallen Xanatos, the boy who had been more than a son to him.

He placed his palm flat against the window, feeling the cool, solid transparisteel beneath his hand, and watched as millions of sentients went about their quiet, unremarkable lives. _What is left for me here, anyway?_ he wondered.

Qui-Gon felt his Master's presence behind him a moment later, a frosty breath on the back of his neck felt through the Force. He marveled at Dooku's ability to inspire such awe in his former Padawan, even after almost three decades after being made a Knight. Awe in a man who was able to inspire such feelings in others from his own reputation as a Rogue, the Master who could and had defied the wrath of even the High Jedi Council. The only explanation Qui-Gon had ever come up with that even remotely explained the response was that old habits died very hard indeed.

He turned, taking in his former Master's elegant clothing and closely-cropped grey hair. As always, there was not a fold out of place or an aspect in his appearance that was lacking. If ever there was a Jedi Master who embodied the spirit of the Jedi being guardians of the Galaxy, Qui-Gon had often mused, it was surely Dooku. A cordial smile flickered across the chiseled features that never reached the older Jedi's brown eyes, though his expression was warm enough.

Qui-Gon could practically hear Dooku coolly making calculations and infinitesimal adjustments as he appraised his former Padawan before saying, "There are few sights as splendid as Coruscant on a clear night." He moved to stand beside the Rogue, guiding the younger man's gaze back out to the city stretching beyond the Temple.

Thinking instead of how he preferred the quiet of the Room of a Thousand Fountains or the peace of any of the meditation gardens within the Temple, Qui-Gon simply looked back out the window wordlessly. "I will confess, I was glad when you agreed to speak with me," the Jedi Master continued after a moment, turning away from the view back towards his former Padawan.

Qui-Gon smiled slightly at that, hiding his confusion. "Were you so uncertain as to my willingness to simply talk with you?"

A slight shrug accompanied the response. "I won't pretend that I don't know you found your training to be," Dooku paused, turning up his palms as he searched for the appropriate word, "different than you might have hoped. I know that your Knighting ceremony was a day of profound relief."

Qui-Gon stiffened slightly at that but kept his face politely blank. Dooku had approached his training as a necessary task, something that was important to be done and done well, but a task in which he clearly took no joy. Theirs had been a relationship of profound respect but no attachment or love. Dooku had neither suffered foolishness nor failure gladly and resorted to any means necessary to teach a lesson he thought was important. Qui-Gon had come away from his apprenticeship with scars, many emotional and some physical, evidence to the many lessons he had learned at his Master's hand. Harsh and unyielding, Dooku had been as cold, aloof, and impenetrable as a glacier, only deigning to thaw – an minute amount – once Qui-Gon had become a Jedi Knight in his own right. While he would be the first to admit that Dooku's training was responsible for the Jedi he had become, one of the legends within the Temple on par with Mace Windu or Saesee Tiin, Qui-Gon couldn't help but wonder what had been lost in the process.

"I don't think any of us found training to be what we expected," Qui-Gon replied. "What is it you wished to discuss with me?"

Dooku flipped out the edges of his cape and clasped his hands behind his back beneath it. He glanced back towards the window, looking out towards the Senate District. "As you may know, I have long been questioning the wisdom of the role the Jedi Order has been forced to play. We've become little but lackeys to the whim of the Galactic Senate, especially the Chancellor who plays schoolyard monitor to all the squabbling, infantile beings that call themselves 'representatives of the people.'" The older man's face hardened as he spoke, and his voice became soft and bitter.

"I have to agree that I don't always believe the Senate has the best interests of the Republic in mind," Qui-Gon responded, following his former Master's gaze.

"I've discussed the matter with Yoda many times," and a small, rueful smile appeared on his face at this, "and my former Master has recommended that perhaps I take some time away from the Order – away from Coruscant – to give both distance and perspective –"

Dooku broke off, and both he and Qui-Gon turned back towards the interior of the Temple. A shockwave of anguish and terror had rippled through the Force, surging forward like a breaker on an ocean shore, before crashing over them. An instant later, the small, desolate sound of sobbing began to echo throughout the large chamber, bouncing off the pillars and the tall walls with a choked quality to it. Qui-Gon was moving away from his former Master before he'd even formed the thought to do so, reaching out through the Force to find the source of the noise.

It stopped unexpectedly, though Qui-Gon could still hear the sounds of quiet whimpering, the furtive gasps and gulps of unshed tears. He came upon a stone bench placed along the edge of the room, and it was there the Rogue found him.

Obi-Wan was curled underneath the bench, his cheeks red and damp from the tears. His brilliant cerulean eyes were even brighter than normal from the unshed tears, although they were half closed in terror and the confused state between waking and sleep. Tousled copper curls formed a mop on the top of his head as he buried his face in his hands.

Qui-Gon knelt beside the bench and reached under to pull out Obi-Wan. The crècheling struggled away, murmuring a muffled, "No, no sweet lesson, no," with desperation clear in his voice, over and over again.

"There will be no sweet lessons today, Little One," the Rogue replied, his voice pitched low and soft. Obi-Wan fell still, opening his eyes a little wider to take in Master Jinn there, one hand outstretched towards him.

Slowly, the small child crawled towards him, and Qui-Gon pulled Obi-Wan into his arms, where the Little One buried his face into the older man's tunic. "Please," Obi-Wan whispered, his voice all but inaudible between the choking tears and the soft fabric of Qui-Gon's tears, "no sweet lesson. I won't do it again."

Qui-Gon gently rubbed Obi-Wan's back, holding him close while still kneeling on the floor. Dooku came to stand beside them but made no move to help console the weeping child. "No sweet lessons, Little One, never again," Qui-Gon repeated. It took a long time before Obi-Wan's frantic sobs subsided into the occasional sniffle. Even once he had settled, he kept Qui-Gon's tunic clenched tightly in his small hands.

"Little One, I'd like you to meet Master Dooku," Qui-Gon said as he stood, noticing Obi-Wan's curious – and not entirely friendly – stare. "I was once his Padawan. Master Dooku, this is Obi-Wan Kenobi."

"The pleasure is mine," Dooku replied, sketching a small, almost mocking bow to the crècheling. Obi-Wan just looked back with wide eyes before burying his face a little more into Qui-Gon's tunic.

"What were you doing here, Little One? I'm sure there are people in the crèche looking for you." Qui-Gon looked down at his small burden, marveling at the warmth given off by the child.

"Waiting for you," came the muffled response. "Had a question."

"What was your question?" The only response Qui-Gon received was a sideways glance towards Dooku and a tightening of Obi-Wan's hands. The Rogue smiled, giving a quiet chuckle. "You can ask in front of Master Dooku. I promise he will regard your question with the gravity it deserves." As soon as the response was out of his mouth, Qui-Gon had to wonder at the truth of it.

Obi-Wan paused, turning his head sideways so that his ear lay on Qui-Gon's chest. The slow heartbeat of the older man was soothing, as was his presence. After another moment, an eternity to the child, he asked in a very small voice, "Will they ever send me back to… him?"

His arms tightened around Obi-Wan for an instant as he saw in his mind the large man who had dared called himself Obi-Wan's father – a heavy-set man with dark auburn hair and blue eyes who had tried to bully Qui-Gon Jinn as he'd tested the child and, once the testing was done, had earned himself a look of complete fear from Obi-Wan, the sort of look no adult should ever command from a child. He remembered with perfect clarity the healer's pronouncement upon his arrival at the Temple, the bones healed many times over and the fading bruises of blotchy green and yellow.

He remembered a fury so absolute and complete at the loss of a child's innocence, at a life shattered before the age of two.

Qui-Gon Jinn also remembered profound desolation at the fact Obi-Wan believed he had deserved such treatment.

"No, Little One. I will never let them send you back to him."

Obi-Wan gave a sigh of relief, and the tension contained within the small body dissipated. Dooku watched with academic interest at the soft look on his former Padawan's face as the crècheling finally slipped into the boneless sleep of the young, this time completely confident that the Rogue, his chosen champion, would protect him.

"So this is the child the Temple says has stolen your heart."

Qui-Gon felt a surge of annoyance flare up. He knew the other things that had been said behind his back – that this would be the child to redeem him for the loss of Xanatos, that the Force had chosen Obi-Wan for his apprentice, despite the fact Qui-Gon had already sworn never to take another. Still the whispers echoed within the Temple – Obi-Wan would either been Qui-Gon's Padawan – – or no one's.

"What were you telling me before, Master? About time away from the Jedi?"

Dooku was still looking at the child with speculation in his dark eyes. He blinked slowly, coming back to himself, before looking up into Qui-Gon's azure. "I wanted to ask if you'd come back with me to Serenno. To contemplate a better life for the Jedi than to live at the beck and call of a corrupt government." The older man's gaze slid back down to Obi-Wan, and it was clear to Qui-Gon that he'd lost interest in that particular line of thought for the moment.

"He has such a pure connection to the Force," Dooku breathed. "I could mold him into the greatest Jedi of his age."

As soft as the words were, Qui-Gon heard them as the crack of a belt. He was sixteen again, failing to reign in his focus from the here and now – from petty, current distractions that filled his head with the Living Force but cut him off from the Unifying Force – earning his own sweet lessons. He could feel the sting of the leather cutting into his back, the sticky warmth of a trickle of blood, and most strongly, the understanding that he would never live up to his Master's expectations.

The Rogue instinctively tightened his hold on Obi-Wan, knowing that such treatment would destroy the Little One, unconsciously beginning to accept the role Obi-Wan had given to him – even if he would deny it for years to come, until it was almost too late. "No, Master. You made me into a Jedi, and a Jedi I must remain."

He looked down at the child in his arms with a soft smile, knowing his former Master, even at that moment, thought him a sentimental old fool, missing the grander picture, the more important view, to the impressions of the moment. Even now, a failure. "What is it you used to tell me, Master? 'A Jedi's life is a hard life: one without reward. Without remorse. Without regret.'"

Qui-Gon Jinn looked up into Dooku's dark eyes, all levity gone from his face. "I will stay. However flawed, it's the path I've chosen."

The Count's eyes flashed impatience at his Padawan's choice, but all Dooku did was nod once before walking away, swallowed by the darkness of the night.

In his mind, he finished the rest of the saying: _A path will be placed before you. The choice is yours alone. Do what you think you cannot do. It will be a hard life. But you will find out who you are._

Gently, the Rogue reached out to stroke the Little One's cheek. Perhaps – just perhaps – he'd found a reason to stay, a reason to risk himself again.

A reason to try to heal both himself and the Little One.


End file.
